My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits
by MushrooomsPTook
Summary: Frodo shares deep interactions and reflections with his friends after Bilbo's departure from the Shire. Takes place just before and after the Long-Expected Party (S.R. 1401). Bookverse mainly, no slash, only fluff. My intention is to make readers cry. Let me know if it works!
1. Bilbo

**My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits**

 _A/N – This is a short story of Frodo's reflection and interactions with each of the hobbits Bilbo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. It's intended to shed light on how he views his friends and companions and the meaning that they bring into his life. It is set around the time of Bilbo's departure but before Frodo leaves for Mordor. For readers of the Return to Innocence, I have not abandoned the story. I just wanted to have something different to write in between chapters. Hope you enjoy!_

 **Chapter I**

 **"Bilbo"**

 _"You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo one day; "and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together."_

It was a quiet night, probably one of the most peaceful nights the Shire had seen in quite a long while, at least since Spring. It had previously rained steadily for a good hour, but that was earlier in the afternoon. The storm eventually passed, and now the stars were out and the crickets lifted their rhythmic voices together to welcome the first evening of Summer. But there was no one to hear their song, for all the inhabitants of Hobbiton had settled down for the evening and were dreaming respectable dreams, dreams of second breakfasts, ale, or gossip that ran rampant through the Shire. But a soft flickering light coming from one of the windows of the most prestigious, and indeed, the most curious of all hobbit holes suggested that there was one resident who still had ears for Hobbiton's nightly melody.

Within the room in which the light came from sat a young hobbit, hunched forward, quill in hand, writing fervently and pausing occasionally to either re-ink his utensil or to stretch his arms. The window which he sat next to was cracked open to invite the nightly air, and an occasional breeze would enter, threatening the candle that stood on the hobbit's worktable. The occupant was so fixated on his current task that he didn't notice the wax dripping onto the beautiful wood. However, similar markings around the same region indicated that this wasn't unusual and had occurred many times before.

The shirt of the young hobbit was halfway untucked from his breeches, and his braces hung loosely by his sides. His appearance almost made one think that he had started to undress for the evening but became distracted by something much more pressing, and so abandoned his original business.

A gentle knock on the round door across from where the hobbit sat disrupted his focus from the chorus that reverberated from beyond the window. The lad shifted in his seat to welcome the much older and greyer appearance of his intruder.

"Ho, Lad! You still awake?" said a soft but groggy voice of the old hobbit. He looked as though he'd been asleep for quite some time and had risen only for a brief visit to the washroom and was returning to bed. This was in fact, exactly what he'd been doing.

The younger hobbit looked at his visitor fondly with a sleepy gaze. Just seeing the droopy eyes and tousled grey hair of the old bird made the lad suddenly aware of how tired he was himself. "I'm just finishing up, Uncle," he replied.

"Well," said the older hobbit, rubbing a hand across his eyes, "don't stay up too much later. We start first thing in the morning."

"I won't," the younger hobbit assured with a smile. "Goodnight, Bilbo."

The old hobbit returned a smile. "Goodnight, Frodo-lad," and he closed the door softly behind him.

Frodo's grin lingered for a moment longer before he turned back to his desk and continued his scribbling. He was extremely fond of the old hobbit and considered himself fortunate to be able to address him as his uncle. He remembered the day in which Bilbo invited the young lad to live with him in Hobbiton, to which Frodo couldn't say anything, for the one question he'd long to ask for nine years was the one that was answered for him by Bilbo himself twelve years ago.

 _"You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo one day; "and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together."_

Frodo had responded only in tears, to which Bilbo had smiled affectionately with his own watery eyes, for they both knew that this meant 'yes'. So he did go to live with him, and they did celebrate their birthday-parties comfortably together. For eleven wonderful years, they celebrated their birthdays, each year better than the previous one. Of course, Frodo hadn't known exactly what Bilbo had meant when he invited the lad to celebrate comfortably together, and the young hobbitling soon realized that the term "comfortable" meant something very different to the Master of Bag End than it did to Frodo.

After the death of Frodo's parents and before his adoption to Bilbo, Frodo celebrated his birthday 'comfortably' by receiving a "happy birthday" casually from some of his distant relatives when he lived at Brandy Hall. Most of the time, the closest of these, Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda, would bake him a small cake and gift him with an article of clothing or scarf that Esme had made a month earlier. But there were a few occasions in which the acknowledgment of Frodo's birth came late or not at all. Frodo never held any hard feelings, though, for he understood that with so many occupants and little ones running around at Brandy Hall, it was inevitable that September 22nd would pass by unnoticed.

This was especially true after his younger cousin, Meriadoc, was born. And while Saradoc and Esmeralda were preoccupied with raising their young child, the orphaned Frodo knew that his birthday was far less important and said nothing about it the next day. Had his parents survived the boating accident, they might have argued his thought process, but as he had no parents, it didn't really matter. And after all, his current guardians didn't ask for his parents' death any more than he did. Frodo was simply a victim of a unique and unfortunate situation.

One may view Frodo's years at Brandy Hall as not very comfortable and they'd be right were it not for a tiny but extremely critical detail that made September 22nd worthwhile for the little lad. No matter who remembered or forgot about the hobbitling, there was always the one person who never forgot, and it was the same person whom Frodo adored more than anyone: Bilbo Baggins.

Every year, he would send the child a letter in the mail to wish him "a very special occasion that no one deserved more". In his letters, the old hobbit insisted that one year they would be able to be together for their birthdays and to celebrate their close bond. When Bilbo visited Buckland on rare occasions, he himself would privately confide to Frodo that he was his favorite nephew. But receiving such recognition from this notable "uncle" whom Frodo so dearly loved was what made him determine his birthdays at Brandy Hall as "comfortable".

On the other hand, when Frodo enthusiastically agreed to live with his uncle at Bag End, he hadn't known that the celebratory occasion of their shared birthdays would begin at least two months prior. He hadn't known that Bilbo planned to publicly announce to practically all of Hobbiton that they were all invited to join in on the celebration. He hadn't known that by adopting Frodo, Bilbo would spoil the child with parties, cakes, music, dancing, and more "happy birthdays" in one single day than he'd heard in all his previous years combined. He hadn't known that by adopting Frodo, Bilbo initiated a series of annual birthday parties that would mark September 22nd as a historically famous and highly anticipated day for years to come. He hadn't known that by asking Frodo to come live with him, Bilbo was expressing his own unvoiced desire that he'd wanted to fulfill since the day after the accident. He hadn't known that Bilbo needed someone to love as much as Frodo needed someone to love him.

And yet, after that first year of 2989, Frodo had finally come to know that the word "comfortable" no longer had two meanings, but one. And every year since then would cultivate a tradition for the two hobbits in Bag End (and the majority of the hobbits within the Shire) that they would carry on for eleven years.

It was traditional, for instance, for Bilbo to announce to Frodo in mid-July that it was time to plan their birthday party. It was traditional for Bilbo to verbalize the fine details of the tasks that would take place over the course of the next two months while Frodo transcribed the old hobbit's thoughts to parchment. It was traditional for the two hobbits to divide these tasks equally. It was traditional for Bilbo to write the invitations while Frodo stuffed them into envelopes. It was traditional for the Bagginses to argue whether an invitation to the Sackville-Bagginses should be extended, to which one of them (usually Bilbo) would mutter some snide remark about Lobelia and the other hobbit (usually Frodo) would let out snorts of giggles.

It was traditional for barrels of food, ale, and gifts to roll into Hobbiton by carts a week before the Day. It was traditional for Bilbo to rummage through all of the packages and declare the contents while Frodo stood off to the sidelines with a quill and paper in hand, checking off the confirmed items. It was traditional for one or two foreigners (occasionally Gandalf) to arrive into Hobbiton and knock on the round green door of Bag End two or three days before the party. It was traditional for the Shire to immediately talk and spread rumors.

It was also traditional for Frodo to place a sign on the gate leading up to Bag End that read "No Admittance Except on Party Business". It was traditional for the Bagginses to toast the night before to all the hard work they'd done and to join hands as they sat across the fireplace, enjoying one another's company. It was traditional for Bilbo to go to his study to cross off September 21st on the calendar while fondling a hidden object within the pocket of his waistcoat. It was traditional for Frodo to stay up late into the night, reminiscing of years past, until Bilbo found him a couple hours later, slumped over the stuffed armchair fast asleep. It was traditional for Frodo to murmur groggily, "I'm glad I live with you, Uncle Bilbo," as the old hobbit ushered the lad off to bed, responding, "So am I, dear boy."

For eleven glorious years, Frodo relished in the reality of this new connotation of comfortability. But this year, the twelfth year, was different, for this year brought some unusual and nontraditional surprises that threatened the hobbit's adopted view of comfort.

For instance, it wasn't traditional for Bilbo to turn eleventy-one this year, a fine age that few hobbits achieve as well as Bilbo had. It wasn't traditional for Frodo to turn thirty-three, the official coming-of-age year of hobbits. It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to announce to Frodo earlier that rainy day in June that "it's time for us to plan our birthday party, Frodo my lad". It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to spend an extraordinary amount of time in his study pouring over old books and maps when he thought Frodo wasn't looking. It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to fondle the hidden object of his waistcoat and pace up and down the hall restlessly. It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to pull out forgotten treasures from his mother's chest and sigh fondly.

It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to glance over at Frodo so often with tears glistening in his eyes, nor was it traditional for the guardian to lovingly stroke the brown curls of his nephew's head while Frodo pretended to be asleep. And it wasn't traditional for the nearly 33-year-old to wonder if this may be the last year that the pair celebrated their birthdays comfortably together.

 _SPLAT!_ Frodo stopped writing, surprised by the tear that interrupted his task. He quickly reached a hand to his eyes to wipe away any other tears while looking around nervously, as if someone would notice. When all traces of leakage had been wiped away successfully, Frodo returned his attention to the parchment, where the tear had absorbed a small portion of the ink, smudging a few of the letters. The hobbit felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. It wasn't traditional for him to write such vulnerable things and then realize that others would see evidence of his sensitivity.

Frodo blinked a few times, aware of the wet eyelashes, and took a deep breath. His uncle would understand. The hobbit neatly folded the parchment and sealed it within an envelope. He flipped it over and took up his quill again to write one more thing on the front.

The heir of Bag End sat back and stared affectionately at his finished work. He stood up stiffly from his chair, noting how his shirt stuck to his back, and tiptoed toward his bedroom door. His eyes swept over all of his possessions, from the bed that had belonged to Bilbo when he was a lad to the walking stick in the opposite corner that the cracked old hobbit presented to Frodo right before their first walking adventure together.

Frodo padded softly out of his room and crept down the hall to Bilbo's study, where he let himself in. He strode up to Bilbo's own desk, where a red book lay open. Next to it was a crinkled old portrait of his uncle in his younger years. Frodo smiled. The old bird had been reminiscing on his great adventure years ago when he went from a reluctant and timid burglar to a great adventurer, legend, and hero. Frodo sighed. _His_ hero.

With one swift move, Frodo placed the envelope that read "Uncle Bilbo" behind the next page of the book for Bilbo to find. The book was still unfinished and had many blank pages left in it for future adventures.

As the young Baggins headed back toward his room, he felt that a weight in his heart had been lifted. It was not the weight of fear or anxiety, nor one of completing a tiresome task or even having a difficult conversation with a loved one. It was finally being able to express to the old hobbit the love that he had for him in words that could not be comfortably spoken in any tongue, other than hobbit, the language of comfort. It was a way, his way, of saying how much he valued his uncle and how deeply he would miss him when he finally left the Shire. It was a declaration that Bilbo's invitation to adopt Frodo twelve years ago was more than celebrating birthdays. It was gratitude that Bilbo became the person Frodo needed when his parents were no longer available to him, and in that way, more was gained in his adoption than was lost on the banks of the Brandywine River.

Returning to his bedroom, Frodo blew out the melted candle, and nestled into bed, staring briefly up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. Quietly, he turned his sharp ears to the sweet songs of the crickets outside, slipped into slumber, and dreamt of a long-expected party.


	2. Merry

**My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits**

 **Chapter II** **  
**

" **Merry"**

Frodo collapsed into the seat of his stuffed armchair in exasperation. It had been an extraordinarily long week, with the last two days cultivating in a climactic whirlwind.

The heir and now Master of Bag End couldn't remember the last time when he experienced so many emotions surging through him. It seemed as though Bag End itself had exploded earlier that day, and now he wondered, with all the chaos from the last 24 hours, if he would do the same. The hobbit allowed himself a quiet smile as he imagined what exploded hobbit would look like on the walls inside his inherited smial, but he frowned again very quickly, wondering how on earth he would find the time or energy to tidy up the disarrayed Bag End.

It all started last night with the long-expected party, an unforgettable celebration that neither the Shire nor indeed all of Middle-earth had seen for a hundred years. It was literally the Party of the Century, in which Frodo himself came of age at thirty-three and Bilbo, having reached the extraordinary age of eleventy-one first applauded (then insulted) the attendees publicly before disappearing with a flash.

This grand exit sent hobbits into a fit of panic, and all aspects of respectability (and civility) were abandoned altogether in favor of gossip and scornful remarks. Frodo himself had drained his glass silently to Bilbo's health and then looked for the quickest and easiest escape route before the hobbits could ambush him and demand an explanation.

As bad as that had been, it got even worse when the young Baggins opened Bag End up to all of the residents of Hobbiton the next morning. Word quickly spread from hobbit to hobbit (as it often does) that Bilbo had left presents to some of his relations in the care of his nephew, and the result was catastrophic.

Every Grubb, Chubb, Boffin, Goodbody, Bolger, Bracegirdle, Proudfoot, Hornblower, and many others found themselves bumping shoulder to shoulder in the hobbit hole, eager to collect a gift or to scavage the depths of Bag End for hidden treasure, or both. Some of the visitors demanded a different present from Frodo while many others shouldn't have been there at all. There were fights, trades, treasure excavators, and thieves all present that morning, and poor Frodo couldn't remember a time when the name of Baggins was thrown around so ruthlessly and in such an unrespectable way.

It all would have been too much for the Master of Bag End had his friend Merry not been there to support him. By the time the morning had proceeded into afternoon, Frodo was so flustered and weary that Merry insisted his cousin rest while he managed things for a time. The older hobbit was too flummoxed to argue and slipped away as quickly as he could.

It was a short-lived rest, however, for the sound of Lobelia's shrill voice cut through the halls of Bag End, making Frodo think that an actual goblin had invaded his home. But the unfortunate truth was that the Sackville-Bagginses had arrived.

The confrontation with Otho and Lobelia was the beginning of the end, and after seeing them firmly off the premises (and receiving a back-handed insult in the process), Frodo and Merry were finally able to start ushering the rest of the remaining hobbits off the property.

"It's time to close up shop, Merry," Frodo had said to the tween before running off for a much-needed cup of tea.

But an unexpected visit from Gandalf prevented him from taking one sip. And while the visit was brief, the Wizard's words to him left Frodo feeling confused and bewildered. The questions he asked of Gandalf, the Wizard could not give an answer to, and the questions Frodo assumed he could answer were never asked, for just as quickly as Gandalf had arrived, he was gone again.

Frodo sighed and drew his eyes to the cup of tea. By now it had grown cold along with the fire that had burned out over an hour ago. These were usually two comforts that the hobbit enjoyed regularly, but now, he didn't know if he had the energy to indulge in either one. He scarcely had enough to check in with himself, but his mind was still racing, and he was afraid of what would come up if he finally permitted himself to relax.

 _"Why didn't you go too?"_ Lobelia had shrieked earlier. _"You don't belong here!"_

Why _didn't_ he go with Bilbo, he wondered. He'd suspected for a long while that his uncle would leave, but he'd still been caught off guard by his sudden disappearance. It had been slightly amusing at the time, but now he was beginning to understand the depth of Bilbo's departure.

Frodo sighed once more and forcefully blinked back tears. Why didn't _he_ stay? Frodo thought that was a more appropriate question. But the young hobbit knew in his heart that Bilbo couldn't. Staying was not his way. He was a Baggins, that was true enough, but he also had Tookish blood in him, and he'd been longing for a holiday for some time. And after Frodo's discussion with Gandalf earlier that evening, it seemed that this holiday would be permanent.

The sound of a yawn followed by shuffling footsteps echoed through the tunnel of Bag End, and Frodo turned his gaze to see his younger cousin approach. The tweenager snapped his loose brace on his shoulder with one hand and scratched his curly head with the other. The Brandybuck had retired shortly before Gandalf's arrival and was just rising from a well-deserved nap.

"Hullo, Cousin!" he greeted, stretching his arms over his head.

Frodo simply smiled. "How are you?" he asked.

"Feeling quite restored, thank you, although I think I'm overdue for some restoration in the other department," Merry continued with a smirk while patting his stomach. Frodo enjoyed a quiet chuckle as his cousin seated himself next to him. "The question is, Frodo, how are _you_?"

The Master of Bag End blinked, and his smile faded as his eyes broke from Merry's. He wasn't sure how to answer and was afraid of opening his mouth at all, lest a floodgate open, resulting in a loss in control of emotions. He wasn't sure if he was quite ready for that yet.

Merry squinted a suspicious eye, noting the silence that followed his question and seemed to understand his cousin's dilemma. Intuitively, he released his gaze on Frodo to sweep his eyes over the state of Bag End. He stole one more brief glance over at his friend before whistling very loudly. "Lawks! I had no idea dragons still ventured in Hobbiton!"

Frodo turned a confused gaze on Merry. "Dragons?"

Merry snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right! Lobelia was here today." The younger lad watched as a shy smile began forming across Frodo's face, flushing his cheeks a light shade of pink. This gave Merry permission to continue. "Someone really ought to tell her that her race isn't in business anymore."

"Lobelia a dragon?" Frodo questioned the tween with an arched eyebrow.

"Her hair does remind you of one, doesn't it, Cousin?" And then Merry lowered his voice to just above a whisper and leaned in to ask, "Do you think it would improve her appearance if she shaved her head?"

"Meriadoc!" cried Frodo, but a crack in his voice suggested he was highly amused. "You shouldn't say such things!"

"Oh relax, Frodo!" Merry retorted with a wave of his hand. "Don't pretend you haven't thought of similar, or even more vile things. And anyway, I think you're just envious that I'm able to vocalize what you can't!"

Merry held a smug grin as he watched his older cousin shift uncomfortably in his seat, his mouth gaping open in astonishment. Finally, the gentle-hobbit closed his mouth and folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "I don't believe I know what you're talking about," he said calmly.

Merry glared and allowed his eyes to scan Frodo head to toe as if to scrutinize for any weakness. An evil grin slowly etched its way across his face, and he sat back triumphantly as Frodo shifted again, avoiding the invasive stare of his young friend.

"Oh, you're probably right," said Merry in a tone that Frodo couldn't interpret. "After all, you just became of age yesterday and, well, I'm only a tween still. So obviously, it would make sense that you'd be more educated on this matter, you being _far_ wiser now in your old age."

"Old age?" Frodo questioned accusingly, but his blue eyes danced with merriment.

"What I mean to say, Cousin, is that I concede, and I'm happy to reconsider my opinion of Lobelia, especially in the case of her hair. In fact, I find her altogether quite charming." Merry took a fleeting glimpse at Frodo, catching sight of his curling face, and continued. "Well, maybe charming isn't quite the word I'm looking for. I think possibly elegant or refined may be more suitable." Merry watched as Frodo's face soured and his ears turn from light pink to deep crimson. It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down into hysterical laughter. "In the case of her hair," Merry continued, forcing his face to remain neutral, "I'd describe it as luxurious locks of lusciousness, like brown ribbons flowing gently from heaven's gate."

"All right, stop _please_!" Frodo wailed, cupping his hands over his steaming ears. "I yield! She's horrid and absolutely atrocious! And her hair is far from heavenly, indeed more like a bird's nest!"

Merry erupted into laughter, holding his stomach while he squirmed about in his chair animatedly. Frodo couldn't hold back any more than Merry could and joined the younger lad in a playful sequence of giggling. It had been a long time since they shared a moment like this and the freeing experience of engaging in whimsical banter took Frodo back for a moment to a time of childlike innocence.

It was he who'd first taught Merry this game when the hobbits were children living together in Brandy Hall. The first occurrence took place just after Old Rorimac caught the toddler's face in an oversized jar of marmalade. Merry had cried uncontrollably at the scolding he received and was sent to help the servants for the next two days as punishment.

Frodo, who'd been twenty at the time, had undoubtedly heard of the whole affair and had snuck off to bring some cheer to the young child.

"You know what, Merry?" Frodo had said, prompting the child to bring his puffy eyes to Frodo's while his bottom lip continued to quiver. "Old Rory looks kind of like a goblin, don't you think?"

The younger child paused sweeping the floors to scrub his nose with the back of his hand. Behind it were the sweet beginnings of an innocent smile. Merry blinked. "But do gobwins have hair, Fwodo?"

"Hmm," Frodo pondered. "You're right, Mer. I guess he's more like a dwarf, or perhaps even a hairy wolf! Maybe both!"

Merry had burst into shrieks of unruly laughter, and anyone who passed by would have seen the older lad impersonating his idea of an old hobbit galloping around like a dwarf while adding in an occasional howl. The next thing that they'd see would be the toddler clutching his sides, face red from laughter, and pointing a pink finger at the hilarious sight of his entertainer.

Frodo had grown more somber during the next year, but Merry continued to look up to his cousin for everything, from manners to games. But during the last year of Frodo's residence at Brandy Hall, it was up to Merry to remind Frodo that sometimes games needed precedence over manners. This was just another one of those times.

The two hobbits ceased their laughter when Frodo reached up a hand to catch a stray tear. His cheeks were fully flushed, and his throat felt hoarse.

"So, Cousin," said Merry, returning to a more civilized state of mind. "How do you feel now?"

"Oh, you _are_ a beast," Frodo replied after taking in a much-needed breath of air, "but I think I needed that."

Frodo sighed and rested his head against the chair, breathing deeply again as he returned his focus to the empty halls of Bag End. Merry watched keenly as the pink from his cousin's cheeks began to fade, and the blue eyes restlessly wandered as if to rehearse the events of the previous 24 hours. Merry knew that while Frodo was an expert at keeping his feelings to himself, he wasn't always good at hiding them. It was evident that he was in pain. Merry knew this because he was no stranger to this sort of remorse himself.

He also suffered a loss twelve years earlier when he was only seven-years-old. He remembered hearing hushed voices one evening when he couldn't sleep and wandered about the halls of Brandy Hall to discover the source. There was a light coming from the Drawing Room, and Merry had been quick to identify one of the voices. It belonged to Bilbo Baggins. The other two belonged to his parents. As he quickly creaked open the door, it was immediately understood as to what and whom they were discussing.

"Are you sure about this, Bilbo?" asked Esmeralda. "We are prepared to raise him a little longer if you need more time to consider the responsibilities."

"I have considered the responsibilities," the old hobbit confirmed. "I've wanted to take him in this whole time, but for other obligations that I can now only chalk up as stupidity, I haven't. But I'm ready now, and I don't want to delay another moment."

"I'm very glad you care so deeply for Frodo," said Saradoc. "He needs someone like you to look after him."

"He needs his parents," Bilbo retorted. "But because that's not possible, that boy deserves the best that I can offer. I am deeply grateful to you both for all the love you've provided him these past years, but now you need to focus your attention on your own little one."

"Very well," said Saradoc. "We can tell Frodo in the morning that-"

"Oh Saradoc," interrupted Bilbo, "would you mind if I talk to the lad? I think it would be better if I personally invited him to live with me in Hobbiton."

"That's a splendid idea!" Esmeralda agreed before turning an eye to the open door. Funny how it had opened by itself, she thought, but she rose from her seat and looked in the doorway carefully for any nightly eavesdroppers before closing it. But she would have no idea that it was closed a moment too late, for the eavesdropper had heard all he needed to and was now pacing back to his room in defeat, tears streaming down his face.

Twelve years later, the same lad thought he was looking at his own reflection, and while Merry's loss wasn't forever, it was difficult to say if Frodo's was. Instinctively, he placed a hand on his cousin's and gave it a tender squeeze. "You miss him, don't you?"

Frodo blinked, revealing a shiny tear that made its way down the gentle-hobbit's cheek. He swallowed and nodded. Merry's grip tightened gently, and the recipient breathed in carefully to avoid any other leakage. "You should go to bed, Merry. You have an early start in the morning."

Merry furrowed his brows, conscious of his own surfacing emotions, and he looked hard at his cousin, imagining him sitting alone in Bag End the next day, and the next day, and the next day. The image broke his heart. "No," he said firmly.

Frodo turned his head in surprise at the young hobbit. "What?"

"I'm canceling my journey back to Buckland."

"Merry-"

"I'm going to stay here with you for a week and help you get Bag End back in order. I have no obligations to see to, and my family will certainly understand."

"Merry, you can't do this!"

"Oh yes, I can," countered the younger hobbit with a laugh, "and I'm afraid there is nothing you can do to stop me!"

Frodo could not think of what to say for a long time, but his piercing blue eyes filled with tears very quickly and it felt like a relief to not bother hiding the emotions anymore. "Drat you, Merry!" he laughed as they began to spill down his cheeks. "You _are_ a beast, but bless you! I shouldn't let you stay, but I will, indeed I will. You are very dear to me, and as good a hobbit as there ever was. Thank you!"

Frodo pulled his cousin into a tight embrace, and Merry planted a kiss on his head. The warmth of Merry's smaller body radiated and filled Frodo's heart with a joy that the gentle-hobbit had needed for a long time.

"Well," said Merry, taking Frodo's hands in his. "I don't know about you, but I could go for some nice juicy mushrooms right now."

Frodo looked down the hall toward the pantry and slowly returned his gaze back to Merry's with a sly expression. He arched an eyebrow and said, "Race you to the kitchen?"

The younger hobbit's face broke into a playful smile and without a second longer, the two jumped up from their seats and were sprinting down the tunnel with raucous laughter reverberating throughout the smial.

The evening strayed into night with the music of hobbits snorting, giggling, and guffawing at memories past and jests made about the reactions at Bilbo's disappearance. As they cooked up the mushrooms, Frodo watched his younger cousin, glad of his company and good humor, and was grateful for his persistence. He knew that Merry cared more for Frodo than was good for him and understood that his presence brought both an ally and a friend.

As the night progressed, he smiled reflectively, knowing that the previous years spent with his beloved Uncle Bilbo had now at last reached a happy finale. Frodo was convinced that a new leaf had turned over, bringing the start of a new and brighter season. Indeed, it had already started out as a merry one.


	3. Pippin

**My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits**

 **Chapter III**

" **Pippin"**

Rain. That's all it had done for the last 36 hours, and during these past nights, neither star nor moon could be seen behind the grey storm clouds. The majority of this rare and unusual storm brought a very gentle but steady rain, however, it quickly and very suddenly progressed into a dynamic downpour.

The monsoon had very promptly flooded the roads of Hobbiton, primarily the ones along Hobbiton-Hill, and the water flowed from the very summit of the Hill down past Bagshot Row through the remaining smials and markets.

Aside from the occasional hobbit who found himself scampering home under the minimal protection of a makeshift umbrella, the village had cleared out as soon as the thunder began. By now, most of the inhabitants were quite snug in their hobbit holes, having stretched themselves from a comfortable supper, and were now most likely filling in the corners with a post-meal snack.

This was indeed the case for almost all hobbits, except one. On Hobbiton-Hill in Bag End, the master of this exceptional smial had missed both Supper and snack due to an onset of drowsiness. Seated next to one of the round windows which received a significant amount of water, Frodo Baggins had reclined in his chair some hours ago and took up reading one of his uncle's favorite books. But it was inevitable (as these things often go) that the combination of a good book with the added warmth from the hearth, coupled with the gentle sounds of a rainstorm was the perfect formula for what the local residents commonly refer to as Nap-Trap.

As in most cases of Nap-Trap, this particular hobbit couldn't help falling for the bait, and soon his mind was just as clouded as the sky; his eyelids, like his head, became extraordinarily heavy. A moment later, the book slipped from his fingers, and his head tilted back against the chair, prompting his mouth to open, thereby releasing a steady snore.

Nap-Trap had successfully ensnared another one.

For three whole hours, Frodo Baggins was lost in the depths of slumber and was awakened only by the sound of a firm knock at his door. Frodo groggily opened his eyes, first taking in his surroundings, and then looking out the window. The rain still poured unwaveringly, but the inside of Bag End had grown dark, save for the low fire that fought to remain engaged.

The knock came again, louder this time, and Frodo started from his seat when he heard a voice call from behind it. "Baggins? Mr. Baggins?"

He got up stiffly and barely lifted his feet as he approached the door, wondering who on Earth would be calling at this time of night.

The Master of Bag End swung open the door to reveal a pair of stout hobbits standing in the doorway, one of them holding a large bundle wrapped and hidden in what Frodo suspected was his cloak. The other hobbit held an umbrella in one hand and a lantern in the other, but both strangers wore feathered hats.

The two callers looked rather official for hobbits, and Frodo could not identify either one, leaving his head swimming with numerous unvoiced questions.

"Are you Mr. Baggins?" the one with the lantern asked grimly.

Frodo swallowed, surprised and concerned that the hobbit addressed him this way, rather than in a more traditional greeting that began with the stranger introducing himself.

But Frodo remembered his manners and dipped his head in a bow. "F-odo Baggins at your service," he said, but he quickly blushed when his voice broke, embarrassed that he seemed to be suffering from post-Nap-Trap syndrome.

"Ah," said the stranger, drawing out the word while scanning the young hobbit with his eyes. "So you're the lad Master Bilbo adopted, eh? Never did get a look at ya, but I've heard plenty of things from the locals, I have."

Frodo shifted uncomfortably under the stranger's stare. "Bilbo Baggins has gone away," he replied, anxious to uncover the reason for the visit. "Is there something I can do for you hobbits?"

"O' course there is!" replied the other hobbit, holding the bundle. "Yer the reason we're here. Now, won't you let us in? We been traveling fer a long while."

Frodo didn't like the idea of allowing anyone in that he didn't know, and as he opened the door wider to gesture in the strangers, he wondered if he was opening the door to an unexpected party similar to the one his uncle fell victim to over 60 years previously. It was coincidentally the same month in which Bilbo's grand adventure had begun, giving reason to why the young gentle-hobbit had been so melancholy all week. How he dearly missed his uncle.

"Can I take your coats?" Frodo offered politely, closing the door after the two hobbits stepped in. He glanced at the floor, noting the amount of water the strangers had tracked in, and quickly brought his eyes to his visitors as the low light of Bag End revealed more of their appearance. The two hobbits were clad with both staffs and daggers. It was uncommon for hobbits to arm themselves in this fashion, and Frodo wondered if a war had broken out during his nap and now was being confronted about his lack of engagement.

"We'll make this brief," said the hobbit with the lantern. "We're here on official business." Frodo blinked, but the hobbit continued. "I am Tobias Hornblower, and this is Broncho Stonecrow. We are both Shirriffs from the Westfarthing, representatives of the Watch."

Frodo took a shaky breath and felt his knees weaken. His head began to spin as he tried to think of all the reasons why the Watch would send two Shirriffs to his house in the middle of a rainstorm. It would have to be some serious affair indeed for the Law to make an appearance at this time of night. "The Watch?" Frodo squeaked.

Broncho nodded. "B'fer we cut to it, we 'ave ta verify that ye are Frodo Baggins. Can ya provide some form of iden'if'cation?"

Frodo blinked again but scurried to Bilbo's study, where he returned with his uncle's will, naming Frodo as Heir of Bag End. Having shown it to a demanding Otho Sackville-Baggins eight months earlier, the gentle-hobbit had filed it in a convenient location, should any other accusations arise.

He handed the papers to the officials, who scrutinized the document thoroughly before returning it to the baffled hobbit. "That should suffice, don't you think?" whispered Tobias to Broncho, who nodded stiffly.

The latter hobbit, still holding the mysterious bundle, pulled back the fabric of the cloak, revealing the small and lean sleeping form of a child with a golden head of dripping curls.

"Pippin!" Frodo cried in a hushed voice, rushing forward to retrieve the saturated Took from the Shirriff's arms.

"We're sorry to bother you at this time of night," said Tobias. "We didn't know what else to do. We found him wandering about five miles southeast of Bywater, cold and wet, and all we got out of him was the name of Baggins. We assumed, of course, that he meant you; there are no other Bagginses in the area."

"Oh dear," Frodo exclaimed, cupping the child's cold pink face with his hand. "What on earth were you doing there, Pip?" Then he lifted his eyes to the Shirriffs' again, asking, "Were there no other hobbits with him when he was discovered? What about his parents?"

The two officials looked at one another speechless. "He don't belong t' you?" asked Broncho.

"He's my cousin," Frodo explained. "He lives at Tuckborough in Tookland."

Broncho gasped and pointed. "Is that Paladin an' Eglantine Took's boy?" Frodo nodded in response. "Oh, that's quite a ways fer a little feller like 'im ta wander from."

Frodo smiled grimly. He suspected his cousin must have been up to some kind of mischief and wondered how it led to this current predicament. But the sleeping lad was after all a Took, and as the Tooks say, "if there's a way, why wait for a will?" Unfortunately, this philosophy earned them a disfavorable standing among most hobbits, who weren't accustomed to their peculiarities.

"I am very grateful to you both for bringing him here," thanked the gentle-hobbit. "May I offer you lodging for the night?"

"Thank you kindly, Master Baggins," said Tobias, "but we have to be getting back to our posts. If it will help you out, though, Broncho works further south and has connections to folk who know Paladin."

The other Shirriff nodded. "Aye. I can 'ave word sent ta him by tomorrer mornin' in regards t' this matter."

Frodo sighed as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Oh, that would be indeed wonderful. Thank you."

"Certainly," said Tobias as he and Broncho moved toward the door. "Well, it seems like this situation is sorted. We'll leave you and the lad to it."

"G'night, Master Baggins," replied Broncho, and both hobbits tipped their hats before departing.

As the door closed, Frodo drew his gaze to the sleeping form of his small charge. He gently brushed a wet strand of gold curls from his white forehead. He smiled fondly, regarding the distinct features of his face, especially his freckled nose. For a moment, he remembered the child in his infancy and shook his head, unable to believe how much time had passed.

As the elder hobbit turned to start down the tunnel with his burden, he paused and studied the face of his cousin carefully. He could've sworn he'd seen the long eyelashes slightly flutter, and as the gentle-hobbit continued to suspiciously watch them, his attention averted to the right innermost corner of Pippin's mouth, which curled upward to create a very subtle and unmistakably Tookish grin.

Suddenly, the child's eyes flew open, radiating the room with their vivacious green unveiling.  
"Finally!" he rejoiced, lifting his soppy head from the crook of Frodo's arm. "I thought they'd never leave."

"Pippin!" Frodo exclaimed. "Have you been awake this whole time?"

"Yes, sadly," replied the lad, frowning. "I tried to sleep along the way, but the two adults took the rainiest path and the one who carried me wrapped me so that I could barely breathe! I couldn't tell him, though, because I had already pretended to faint just so they would stop asking me so many questions!"

The child lept out of Frodo's arms with such energy that immediately drained Frodo of his own. "Come on, Cousin!" beckoned Pippin, tugging Frodo's hand. "I haven't eaten yet, and I'm starved!"

"Hold on now," Frodo said firmly, pulling back forcefully to bring his cousin to a halt. "Do you mean to tell me that you intentionally manipulated those kind Shirriffs just to hitch a ride here?"

Pippin paused and glanced down briefly before bringing his emerald eyes back to Frodo's. "I don't know what a lot of that means, but I think so. It's okay, though, because I'm here now."

"No, Peregrin!" the older hobbit snapped.

Pippin froze. It wasn't uncommon for the little lad to hear those two dreadful words in the same sentence, but he never imagined he would hear them from Frodo. The unusually sharp tone was distressing, and the young child felt a shiver run deep within his body, starting from his heart all the way down to his woolly toes.

"It isn't okay," continued Frodo. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What you did was unacceptable, not to mention highly dangerous! Have you thought about what could have happened had those gentle-hobbits not come upon you? Did you even tell your parents where you were going?" Pippin lowered his flaxen head under the icy stare of his cousin's blue eyes. He slowly shook his head dismally. "These are things you have to consider, Pip. You can't just go galavanting about the Shire without telling anyone. I imagine Eglantine will be crying her eyes out when she realizes you've gone missing. Thankfully, you found yourself in the right hands and you ought to be grateful that the Watch sends decent enough hobbits to send word of your whereabouts to your parents."

Frodo gripped his waist with his hands and let out an exasperated sigh. He wasn't cross often, but when he was, it took a lot out of him.

The dejected child apparently believed the storm had passed and slowly lifted his heavy eyes to Frodo's again. "I'm sorry, Frodo," he offered quietly.

But Frodo shook his head at his foolish cousin. "Why did you do it, Pip?"

"I didn't know it was going to rain so much. I got cold and t-tired and," the little lad breathed shakily, "lost."

"Then you shouldn't have left at all, Pippin," responded Frodo, darkly.

Pippin blinked and looked up at his cousin with round shiny eyes. "But I had to!"

"Why?"

"Because-" the child inhaled sharply as his green eyes filled with tears. "Because you n-never write me anymore!"

It took all that he had to slip in this last statement without blubbering. But for Frodo, these words provided the missing piece of the puzzle and all his questions, voiced or otherwise, were answered.

Frodo's face immediately softened as Pippin broke down into sobs. His tongue felt like cotton as he tried to silently justify the reasons why he hadn't written his littlest cousin. It didn't matter that his pantry was full of uneaten food, or that he hadn't changed the calendar since last October; nor did it matter that his once favorite activities suddenly felt like chores, or that the Master of Bag End rarely left the smial; or even that he had started writing the miniature Took a letter over two months ago, but that the unfinished document lay curled on his worktable collecting dust. They all connected to the same reason:

Frodo's grief concerning Bilbo's departure eight months earlier was not only hurting himself but now others around him as well.

Of course, Frodo had never intended on hurting the little lad. Indeed, behind all the talk of Hobbiton that circulated around Mr. Frodo Baggins, there was an undisclosed amount of respect and admiration for the Master of Bag End, and he was silently regarded as one of the kindest hobbits one could ever hope to cross paths with.

But beneath his soft exterior, there was a wave of emotions and sensitivity that the average hobbit wouldn't be able to experience unless invited into Frodo's confidence. However, left unchecked, these powerful emotions could leak out in unnatural ways, confusing and even startling the innocent bystander, which was the unfortunate case for little Pippin.

But the younger hobbit, as foolish as he could be at times, was still a child, and even more importantly, a Took. While he was actually very resourceful and cunning, it was also within character that he should be curious about the world and to look for adventure in un-hobbitlike ways, even if they were a little impulsive.

It was this same curiosity that presented itself at Bilbo's Farewell Party eight months earlier, when he, along with his older cousin, Merry, snuck into Galdalf's cart and set off a rather unusually large firework that drove a dynamic yet brief terror into the guests.

Another moment of Tookish curiosity was when the child tried to invent a phenomenon in which two of his favorite foods (mushrooms and pancakes) were layered together to create what he called 'Third Breakfast'. In this case, curiosity is what caused him to refrain from eating either of these foods for a month.

This same curiosity presented a similar case when Pippin, intrigued by how long his sister's hair grew, wondered how it would look cut short. After strategically acquiring an overly large pair of scissors from his mother's knitting supplies and satisfying his imagination, the little lad obtained the much-needed understanding that one should never cut his elder sister's hair, no matter how good of an idea it may sound at the time.

And it was also this same curiosity that one day aroused Pippin to ask Frodo why he didn't have parents, to which Frodo responded with a sad smile, "because Bilbo needed an heir."

There was a great deal of adventure in the unknown, and even Frodo could not deny that; for the same curiosity that presented itself through Pippin's impulsive adventures could also be found in Frodo's lineage. He himself had Tookish roots, which explained his interest in the comings and goings of activity outside the Shire, as well as his love of the Elvish history and language. Indeed, as Frodo looked at his small cousin, there was a piece of him looking back.

But as curious as Peregrin was, it was curious that curiosity had not brought the Took to Bag End, but rather loneliness. He missed his cousin deeply, and Frodo, watching the lad produce great shining tears, could not deny that he had greatly missed the child too. There was an adventure in being a Took if even a little, and Frodo realized at once that he had been missing out on one of the biggest adventures that stood right in front of him.

Frodo sighed and gently knelt down to the child's level, brandishing a white handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat. The hobbit placed a hand on the little one's scrawny shoulder, while tenderly dabbing Pippin's eyes with the silk fabric.

"You know what, Pip?" he asked softly, prompting the toddler to meet Frodo's eyes with his. "You're right. I haven't written to you."

"But you promised."

"I know. I wish I knew what to say to make it up to you, other than it seems I pushed you into making a journey you shouldn't have had to. I am so sorry that I put you through that." Frodo retracted the handkerchief to look in those precious emerald eyes. "Will you forgive me?"

The young Took nodded and scrubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "It's okay," he said, displaying a small smile. "I know you lost Uncle Bilbo. I just didn't want to lose you, too."

Frodo's eyes stung at those words. Immediately, he scooped up his young cousin into his arms, nearly crushing the lad in a tight but much-needed embrace. "Oh, my dear hobbit," Frodo whispered with a quivering voice. "You shan't lose me, not yet anyway. We have too many adventures ahead of us yet. After all, being thirty-three doesn't exactly mean being without need of rescue. I'll need a sturdy hobbit to help keep me out of trouble during these next thirty-three years."

"Truly?" asked Pippin innocently.

Frodo smiled. "Truly," and he gifted his cousin's pink nose with a tender kiss.

Suddenly, the child let out a wet sneeze, causing Frodo to shut his eyes a moment too late. "Dear me!" he said. "Sounds like a plumbing problem to me and no wonder! You're still a damp mess! I suppose we'd best get you into some dry clothes."

"And then we eat?" asked Pippin eagerly.

Frodo said nothing for a while but held Pippin's anticipatory gaze with a smile. Not long ago had he wondered if he was opening the door to an unexpected party similar to his uncle's long ago. After tonight, he realized this was indeed the case, and like his uncle, this unexpected party was exactly what he needed.

"Only if we can invite one of my best friends," Frodo replied softly, a twinkle in his eye.

Pippin frowned, confused. "Who?"

"Why, Pippin Took, of course!" The child's eyes widened, prompting a grin to spread from ear to ear, and he put his little arms around Frodo. The older lad bestowed another kiss on the curly head and after a "Come on, Sprout," from Frodo, the two ventured down the hall of Bag End and into a night of unexpected surprises.


	4. Sam

**My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits**

 _A/N – This chapter is dedicated to my covenant friend, Raye, my real-life Sam, whom I love dearly and completely. You are a friend of friends, steadfast to the very end, a friend of the highest quality.  
Thank you for being the person I needed and for encouraging me to keep the faith. God bless._

 **Chapter IV**

" **Sam"**

There is a tradition that takes place each year in Hobbiton around the end of August. During this time, the green vibrant leaves begin to develop into different shades of red, orange, and gold, and the villagers begin to harvest pumpkins and carrots while making quiet preparations for the eventual approaching drop in temperature.

But on this respectable day of September, the sky was blue, the birds were singing, and the golden leaves rustled in the trees from an occasional autumn breeze. Hobbiton swelled with good cheer, happy faces, and no adventures whatsoever (which in itself was pleasing).

All was well this day, except for one particular lifeform. While all its siblings surrounding it were thriving beneath the invigorating rays of the sun, this young seedling was drooping sadly, obviously lacking the expected orange color of its more mature playmates.

As a shadow centered on the unhappy young plant, one would seem that its misery may, at last, be coming to an end.

"Oh," said the shadow in a startled soft voice. "What's happened here?"

Silence.

"Have them older punkins been beatin' on ya, little sprout? Well, don't you worry. Your Sam will take good care o' you, an' that's a fact!"

The owner of the shadow quickly took up a trowel and carefully used it to remove the layers of soil that encompassed the seedling. Once the task was completed successfully, two clever brown hands joined together to gather up the uprooted plant and held the helpless squash in the sight of a pair of inquisitive honey-colored eyes.

Gardening, as a rule, requires plenty of time, attention, and patience. For many gardeners in Hobbiton, they got by with all these essentials and produced a wonderful array of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. But for Samwise Gamgee, gardening was a restorative experience. With his sincere empathy for all living things, he aimed to achieve a connection with the ground that would result in harmonious interactions with creation.

It was a sensory engagement for the tweenaged Gamgee. Indeed, there was little that he enjoyed more than exploring the rich soil with his hands, the texture soft and cool against his skin, all while savoring the pleasant aroma of earth around him.

While most hobbits of the Shire sensibly avoided adventures, Samwise thought there could be a little adventure in gardening, and given the right formula of light, water, and (Sam's favorite) tender care, after many nights of sleep, one might be fortunate enough to experience a wonderful phenomenon called life.

As Sam held his weakened baby pumpkin delicately in his hands, he turned a disapproving eye on the rest of the garden. "Now see here, ya big brutes," he scolded, shaking a disciplinary finger at the motionless fruits and vegetables. "Just b'cause yer bigger than some o' the youngsters don't give you the right ta pick on 'em. If ye can't be nice, then I might 'ave ta ge' upset, see? So you jus' start gettin' along good an' proper an' then it won't 'ave to come ta that!"

Sam sighed and turned his attention back to the homeless squash, indicating that the admonishment had come to an end. "Now then, li'l one," he said more to himself. "What're we ta do with you?"

He scanned Bag End's illustrious garden meticulously, keeping his watchful eyes open for a vacant plot. And then he found it. It was perfect.

"Here we are," he said softly, and then used his trowel to uncover a hole deep enough for the roots to receive all the beneficial nutrients of the fresh soil. "There ya go, little master. You go ahead now an' drink up all the sunlight you need. 'Ere's some fresh water for ya. Don't you worry now. Your Sam will 'ave you grown up in no time, just you wait an' see!"

He showered the young pumpkin with a watering can, carefully cupping the tiny leaves to help channel the water. The tweenaged hobbit smiled at the successful transfer.

Under the apprenticeship of his father, Sam worked hard to maintain the upkeep of his master's garden. For two years, he'd experienced many seasons of triumph, sorrow, and redemption. Ironically, the lessons learned during these periods taught him less about gardening and more about himself and the things (and people) he valued. Soon, his father would pass on this responsibility to the young Sam permanently.

Suddenly, the young gardener got an innate sense that he was being watched. He cautiously turned his head around and saw the Master of Bag End leaning against the open window, his blue eyes fixed on the tween, and a whimsical smile playing upon his lips.

"Oh!" Sam started, his limbs stiffening from embarrassment. "M-Mr. Frodo! H-How long 'ave you been standin' there, sir?"

Frodo's smile widened, although Sam thought it looked a bit forced. "Long enough to see a family quarrel reconciled splendidly." Sam's cheeks flushed red, but Frodo went on. "Bilbo would be pleased to know that he left his garden in good hands."

Sam's smile deepened into a sheepish grin, and his pointed ears quickly took on the color of his scarlet cheeks. He couldn't help notice that his master identified the garden as Mr. Bilbo's. It seemed that by now the fact that the old hobbit had left Bag End in the care of his nephew was widely accepted by the residents of Hobbiton. All but Mr. Frodo it seemed.

"Can I 'elp you with something, Mr. Frodo?" Now that Sam's initial excitement was over, he looked closer at his master again and caught sight of faint fragments of tears upon the reddened cheeks.

Sam knew that this had been a tough year for his friend and master. He'd known that Bilbo's departure had initially caused a great deal of commotion within the village, but that it had also attributed to Frodo's withdrawal from social engagements. Although the news around the party last year had died down a few months ago, gossip was still maintained behind closed doors, and when citizens passed by Bag End, old rumors about hidden treasure would resurface again.

The Sackville-Bagginses had more than likely been the source of many of these conversations and Lobelia fueled her son with promises that one day, Bag End would be theirs. Lotho would offer up a grin that matched the malice presented in his greedy dark eyes. Sam had seen it once when he and Frodo bumped into him at the Green Dragon one day. Merry had been there with them, for it had been just days after the party. Lotho drunkenly shoved Frodo into a corner and spewed out jargon that the young hobbit had previously heard from Lobelia. But he added something even nastier. "You just watch yourself, Baggins! After I take that home that belonged to that crazy old hobbit you call your uncle, I'll take everything else, maybe even this whole town."

Sam had heard enough, and with the support of Merry, the two hobbits forcefully yanked Lotho off of Frodo and together chased him out of the inn with pernicious warnings. No one would talk badly about the Bagginses if Sam could help it, and the gardener had kept a close eye on his master since.

Samwise frowned as he returned his gaze to his master. "Mr. Frodo, are ye a'right, sir? 'Ave you been cryin'?"

The master of Bag End quickly reached up a hand to wipe his cheeks. "Uh-no, Sam, but I did want to ask you if-"

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam gasped and stood up straight away with a look of horror. "Yer bleedin'!"

Sure enough, there was a trail of blood streaked from one cheek to the other, right where he'd wiped his face. Frodo grimaced again and sighed, "I know, Sam. That's what I've come to talk to you about. It appears I've nicked myself and I..." Frodo swallowed as if to brace himself for an embarrassing favor. "...I wondered if you could fetch your mother to help me."

Sam gave Frodo a frown, not only because it was unfortunate that his master was injured, but also because he had a disappointing response. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, I'm sorry! My mum left for the market with my sisters over an hour ago."

"Oh," replied the gentle-hobbit calmly, but a shadow of anxiety seemed to creep into his blue eyes.

Sam bit his lower lip silently, then took an eager breath and said, "But I could take a look, sir!"

Frodo gave a pained smiled. He hadn't wanted to disrupt the working hobbit in the first place, and now he was afraid of burdening Sam with another tedious task. "If it's not too much trouble," he requested shyly.

"'Tis no trouble at all, sir!"

The young Gamgee nearly tripped over his own two feet as he rose from the garden bed, rapidly running around the side of Bag End to meet Frodo at the door.

"Where is it, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, but Frodo did not have to answer, for already a pool of blood had soaked through a makeshift bandage that looked as if it had been hastily (and poorly) applied. Sam had nicked himself many times before in his childhood, so he felt confident about what needed to be done when he saw one. But looking at the covered wound, he immediately understood that Frodo had been generous with his previous wording. This was no nick, but a full-blown cut.

"Oh, sir!" Sam cried, inspecting Frodo's injury with his rough hands. He readjusted the fabric around his master's thumb as a temporary measure. Thankfully, having seen his mother nurse many wounds for six children, the reserved hobbit knew exactly what to do. Visiting Bag End frequently had also served the young Gamgee well, for he knew precisely where all the first aid supplies were kept.

He himself had once received some minor remedial care from Mr. Bilbo after being invited over for afternoon tea. Upon offering to wash the dishes with Mr. Frodo, the beautiful cup slipped from Sam's fingers and shattered on the floor. He was so broken-hearted by the fate of Bilbo's fine cup that he didn't seem aware that he'd stepped on a fragment of glass.

But the old hobbit had been very kind to him and his foot. After sweeping up the broken shards thoroughly, he carried Samwise off to tend to the hairy toe, while Frodo entertained the child with a book about Elves. It was his first time hearing about the fair mystical creatures, and he'd been fascinated by them ever since.

"We've gotta wash this, Mr. Frodo. This 'ere's a nasty cut, but once we get it dressed proper, ye'll

be feelin' better in no time!"

With Sam leading the way, the two young hobbits hurried to the washroom, where the younger hobbit carefully and precisely saw to everything that he'd mentioned. Frodo himself observed the tween with his intuitive eyes and was baffled that his friend showed as much care (if not more) to his sliced thumb as he had with his garden. He would have been happy enough to slap a bandage on it and call it a day, but that was not Sam's way.

To Sam, there was no slapping anything. This was a very thorough and delicate process, and both cleansing and bandaging would need to be tended to with equal care. He worked silently and intentionally, dressing Frodo's wound that would have made the local healer proud. He finished by bringing a damp towel to Frodo's blood-stained cheeks and washed them gently, evoking a soft giggle from the gentle-hobbit.

"No more of that, Sam-lad," gasped Frodo. "That tickles."

"Sorry, Mr. Frodo! But we can't 'ave ya walkin' around Hobbiton leakin' blood everywhere. People will think ye've been up ta somethin'. Anyway, it's over now, sir, and yer poor thumb should mend pretty quickly in a couple o' days."

Frodo examined his newly bandaged thumb and flashed his friend a grateful smile. "Thank you, Sam. It still stings, but I imagine that with pain comes healing."

"Aye. If ye don't mind my askin', Mr. Frodo, how did ye manage to give yerself such a nasty cut?"

Frodo's cheeks flushed crimson, and his eyes broke from Sam's for a moment. "I was cooking-uh, chopping I mean, chopping onions. That's why you thought I'd been crying...Because I wasn't."

"You must 'ave a way o' choppin', sir, if yer nearly cuttin' off yer own fingers an' all." A shy chortle escaped from the tween, and suddenly he cupped his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. His gaffer had warned him numerous times to treat both Mr. Bilbo and his heir with the utmost respect and Sam was abashed by what he'd just done. Were his gaffer here, he would have rightly reprimanded the lad for laughing at his master's detriment. "Oh! Mr. Frodo, sir. I didn't mean anythin' by it!"

But Frodo laughed unapologetically. "Of course you didn't, Sam-lad," he giggled. "You're right. I am not so skilled in the kitchen. But skilled or not, I suppose I should get back to it before my stomach burns a hole in me from hunger." He patted his middle to emphasize this statement. "Thank you, Sam, for mending my poor thumb. You're welcome to go back to what you were doing."

"Oh, Sir!" cried Sam and the hobbit gripped Frodo's hand before he could walk away. "Ye can't cook now, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo chuckled. "Whyever not, silly?"

"Why, you're wounded! 'Twoudn't be proper."

Frodo looked at Sam dubiously. He knew very well that he was in a proper enough condition to cook his own meals, but he wasn't about to say this to his determined friend. "What am I to do then?" he asked. "If I don't cook, then I shan't eat, and you know as well as I do that Bilbo always scolded me if I skipped a meal. He often commented that I should increase my food intake to meet a standard hobbit weight."

Sam said nothing for a moment, although he silently agreed with Frodo's uncle that his master was leaner than most hobbits. He honestly didn't know how anyone in their right might could skip a meal. It wasn't proper. If he had his way, he would cook his friend a meal that stretched the boundaries of both Hobbit proportions and imagination. More than that, he would present Frodo with his devotion that he quietly hid so deeply in his heart.

Then inspiration struck. Sam's brown eyes regarded the older hobbit with curiosity and wondered how his gaffer might react to his brewing idea. But as he thought, he quickly realized that if he didn't say what was stirring in his heart now, then he'd never say it, and an opportunity to display his affection for his master would float away.

"Mr. Frodo?" he proposed carefully, mindful of his wording. "I-" he said, nearly choking. "I would like to cook for you."

Frodo gave his younger friend a heartfelt smile. "Sam..."

"I'm-I'm serious."

"I know," said Frodo. "You've done more than enough already. I don't know if I could allow you to do that."

Sam bit his lower lip, aware that he was flirting with some serious boundaries. "Well, I want to, Mr. Frodo...and I will!" The gardener quickly peeled his eyes away from the speechless gentle-hobbit and resolutely turned to venture toward the kitchen before he changed his mind. He hadn't known what he was going to do when he got there or what Frodo must have been thinking about his audacious behavior, but he knew in his heart that this seemed the right thing to do.

He had closely observed the gentle-hobbit since Bilbo's parting with a watchful eye. He'd seen the chaotic crowds gather at Bag End to collect their gifts the day after the party. Merry had thankfully been there to help him through this disorderly process, for which Sam was grateful.

He'd watched secretly with a protective eye as Frodo opened his door to the two strange hobbits who'd visited eight months later, eventually learning that Mr. Pippin had come to provide Frodo with some much-needed company. Sam had been very grateful.

But now was his turn, and he'd promised himself that he'd take care of his master with an outpouring of his love. After all, throughout these past thirteen years, the pair of hobbits experienced seasons of triumph, sorrow, and redemption. The lessons learned through these periods taught Sam less about himself and more about Mr. Frodo. He'd rejoiced and wept and bled for the fair hobbit, and there was no hesitation at the thought of doing these things again, "even if it breaks my back and heart," he found himself whispering.

As the shy gardener entered Bag End's kitchen, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. Turning around, he found Frodo's cerulean eyes staring into his own. He broke away hurriedly as a bubble began to surface from within him.

"Sam..." Frodo began lightly, but the younger hobbit stopped him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo," the lad interrupted, his maple eyes flooding with tears. "I know it ain't righ', sir, an' I know I've no business dismissin' you. But I want to, I do. Ye've been hurt somethin' dreadful since Mr. Bilbo left, don't think I 'aven't noticed! I kept tellin' myself, 'Samwise', I said, 'You need ta be ready. There's goin' ta come a day when he'll need you, so you keep sharp an' don't you let 'im outta yer sight.'" Sam sniffed as he brought his eyes back to Frodo's. "An' I 'aven't, sir, beggin' your pardon, an' I don't mean to neither."

Frodo gave the hobbit an endearing smile and gently clasped the tween's hands in his, and his eyes swelled with admiration for his stout-hearted confidant. He hadn't known a finer hobbit than Samwise Gamgee, for he was faithful and true, closer than a brother, safer than the walls of Bag End. He was indeed a friend of friends, steadfast to the very end, a hobbit of the highest quality.

"I would be deeply honored," Frodo said softly, locking his eyes with his loyal companion, "to have you cook for me."

Sam's mouth gaped open and he sputtered out stray tears that had reached his lips. "You mean it, sir?"

Frodo squeezed the two smaller hands in his. "Nothing would please me more, my most beloved hobbit."

Sam blinked and ducked his head, his cheeks and ears turning a deep shade of scarlet at receiving such an exalted title.

Frodo sighed and brought his hands together to massage his tender thumb. "Do you want to know a secret, Sam?" The stout hobbit nodded. "I cut my thumb because I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. I was thinking..."

"Thinkin' of what, sir, beggin' yer pardon?"

Frodo drew his eyes to the fabric and traced it gingerly with his index finger. "It'll be a year tomorrow since Bilbo's departure."

Sam looked down briefly before settling his eyes on Frodo. "Do you feel sad?"

Frodo sighed. "Yes, though not as I thought I would be." Sam gave his master a questioning look and wondered very quickly if those tears had in fact been from the onions. But Frodo continued without this thought being voiced. "All my life, I thought whenever he left Hobbiton I'd go off with him, and we'd go adventuring together." The hobbit paused to lick his lips. "I suppose Bilbo knew I wasn't ready."

Sam tried not to show the concern in his hands. The last thing he wanted was for Mr. Frodo to go off without him, and the thought of losing Frodo saddened the younger hobbit. They'd been friends for thirteen years after all.

He took a deep breath and said, "There'll be a day when you get ta go on yer own adventure, and I reckon when that day comes it'll be the finest adventure any hobbit 'as ever seen!" Frodo gave his encouraging friend a smile, and Sam prepared himself to ask a very intimate question. "Do ya suppose... Do ya suppose I could come along with you?"

"My dear Sam," sighed Frodo, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "It wouldn't be an adventure without you, now would it?" Samwise grinned with excitement and Frodo took one last sigh as he allowed his musing eyes to return to the present. "Now," said Frodo, releasing Sam's shoulder. "What do you need me to do?"

"Why don't ya sit down fer a while, sir, and make yerself comfor'ble? I'll 'ave dinner started promptly, if you follow me."

Frodo did as Sam suggested, pulling a seat from the dining room to watch his bequeathing friend.

Samwise took a moment to glance at everything he had to work with. He found the chopped onion, just as Frodo had said, but there wasn't evidence of any other preparations

having been made. He silently started making some executive decisions as to what he would create, and just as he was about to dive in, he frowned. There were very few spices, garlic being Sam's favorite to work with, but there was a key ingredient missing that was absolutely crucial.

"Where's yer knife, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo blinked. "It should be right there with the chopped onions."

Sam looked down again, inspecting the counter for a decent blade, but all he could see was something slightly larger (and sharper) than a butter knife. He furrowed his brows together as he held up the pathetic blade for Frodo to see. "Are you talking about this, sir?" _Surely not_ , he thought.

"Oh, good, you found it!" responded Frodo, and his voice held a tone of relief.

Sam swallowed and returned his troubled eyes to the knife. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but 'ave you been choppin' with this?"

"Oh yes! It belonged to Bilbo's grandfather. Isn't it remarkable?"

"Aye, that's one way to describe it," Sam commented unenthusiastically, but he did not finish his thought that it was also remarkably dull. No wonder Mr. Frodo cut his finger. He'd be better off chopping with Mr. Bilbo's blade, Sting, if his former master hadn't taken it with him.

"Uh, Mr. Frodo," stuttered the hobbit. "Do ya mind if I run back home fer a moment, sir?"

"Not at all, Sam," Frodo replied. "Do you need my assistance with anything?"

"Oh no, sir," replied the gardener as he scurried to the door without delay. "I'm just goin' ta ask my Gaffer if I can borrow our kitchen knife."

"Oh, you're welcome to use Bilbo's, Sam-"

But the door had already closed.

Frodo stood up from his chair and stepped into the kitchen. He picked up the knife and ran his finger across the silver blade. "It is remarkable, isn't it?" Frodo smiled gently and then sighed. "Oh, Bilbo."

The gentle-hobbit waited quite a while for Sam to return. He thought that perhaps his gaffer had given him some chores to do, or that he was stuck explaining how the gardening was coming. It was very common for the gaffer to check in on his son occasionally, for since they were children, Frodo and Sam had gone to each other's homes to visit.

Since the day of their initial meeting, when Bilbo brought Frodo to live with him thirteen years ago, he and Sam had become fast friends. Sam was two years older than Merry and had still been a child by hobbit standards. But despite their difference in age, Frodo took an immediate liking to the little hobbit.

He'd met him when Bilbo took his newly adopted heir down to Bagshot Row to introduce him to the Gamgees. Bell had opened the round door, greeting Master Baggins with her sweet voice. As she spoke, a small head of honey-colored curls peeked out from behind her skirts. Though the body belonging to the head was clearly still hidden, the brown inquisitive eyes shone brightly, attracting the attention of not the old hobbit, but the young child who stood next to him.

Blue eyes met with brown and the smaller child blinked his eyes shyly, observing Bilbo's mysterious heir with interest. His parents had spoken so much about him during the previous month that now seeing him in person allowed little Sam an opportunity to gaze upon him in wonder.

The older lad seemed to notice the child's timidity and flashed him an encouraging smile accompanied with a gentle wave. Samwise blushed and grinned briefly before ducking behind his mother's skirts again. He peered out cautiously a moment later to find the heir had gone missing! But a second later, the older lad popped out theatrically from behind Bilbo, causing Sam to burst into giggles as he slipped behind his mother again.

Enjoying this new game, the small child glimpsed around the corner of the laces again, and as before, Frodo was hidden. But unlike before, the older hobbit lad jumped out from behind Bilbo's other side, and the little Samwise shrieked delightedly.

It didn't take the children long to notice that their guardians had gone quiet for some time. They looked up and saw that they were being observed with amusement and the two adults stepped aside to allow the children to meet properly.

Sam's face reddened as he stood vulnerably in front of the unfamiliar but friendly older child. It was the older lad who took the initiative in greeting first. He stepped up to the smaller child and took a deep and proper bow. "Frodo Baggins at your service," he said.

The younger child fidgeted for a moment but bowed as Frodo had, though not as gracefully. He nearly toppled over, but the older child caught his hand before plummeting to the floor.

"Samwise Gamgee at yer service, sir," the hobbit child returned after recovering from his close fall.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gamgee," said Frodo. "It's not easy meeting new people for the first time," he added. "But you did splendidly! I imagine you're a very brave lad!" 

And he was, the bravest of his kind, Frodo remarked silently, returning to the present. He'd been there these last thirteen years whenever Frodo had been sad, or hurt, or scared. He'd rejoiced and wept and bled for him, and Frodo had no doubt that the hobbit would go to the ends of the earth if it meant doing it again.

After all, Frodo had known that the stout hobbit had kept a close eye on him since Bilbo's departure. And after many seasons of triumph, sorrow, and redemption, the lessons these hobbits learned together taught Frodo less about himself and more about Sam's noble character.

After a time, Frodo's sharp ears picked up the sound of a clink-clang-clink-clink-clang-clink-clang that approached the Hill.

Curious of the commotion, Frodo peeped out of one of the round windows and saw a surprising and slightly amusing spectacle. Samwise Gamgee was marching steadily toward Bag End, or at least it looked like Samwise. A more appropriate description would have been a pair of hobbit legs was marching toward the hobbit hole beneath an assortment of pots, pans, and other miscellaneous cookery.

Frodo couldn't help but laugh. It would seem that Sam had found his adventure and was now bringing it right into Bag End. But as Frodo watched his friend approach, his thoughts about the hobbit remained true. He couldn't think of a better friend to go adventuring with than his beloved Samwise Gamgee, faithful and true, closer than a brother, who loved him more than he deserved. He was indeed a friend of friends, steadfast to the very end, a hobbit of the highest quality.

"Well," said Sam, after Frodo opened the door for him to enter. "I'm back." 


	5. The Magic of Hobbits

**My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits**

A/N - This is the final chapter of this story. I hope it finds you well. It's been a pleasure sharing these moments with you; thank you for being a part of them. :-)

 **Chapter V**

" **The Magic of Hobbits"**

 _Frodo Baggins found himself sitting on the dock at the banks of the Brandywine River one foggy morning. Uncle Bilbo had been visiting Buckland from Hobbiton, and by the time Frodo had been sent to bed the night before, the adults were gathered in the Parlour for what Frodo guessed to be a late-night discussion._

 _But it had been his younger cousin Merry who'd informed the lad of the topic, after clambering into the older child's bed and waking him with his persistent tears. The older hobbit hadn't known how to respond, other than to cradle the sobbing Merry in his small arms with gentle whispers of comfort. But inwardly, Frodo wondered if it was true. He wondered if Uncle Bilbo had actually come to adopt him, just as he wondered if Merry would ever forgive him if he said yes to the old hobbit._

 _As Frodo looked out over the misty waters of the Brandywine, his heart was filled with bittersweet thoughts of his parents, whose lives had passed into memories, and murky thoughts of an uncertain future. Would he remain at Brandy Hall, close to the comfort of the past, or live with Bilbo as he had secretly always wanted? But doing so meant to finally move on, to let go, to make peace with the river that claimed his parents' lives nine years earlier._

 _As Frodo thought, he felt the vibrations of approaching footsteps from the wood of the dock. He did not turn to face the arrival of his visitor, for he knew to whom the footsteps belonged, and they meant comfort to the little lad._

 _Instead, the older guest sat down in the empty space next to the child and allowed his toes to dip into the cool water. "I thought I'd find you here, my lad," said Bilbo calmly. "Ah, this river hasn't changed at all. I remember sitting here with your mother many times before you were born. She loved the river. As a child, she'd play in it all the time, always looking for a way to get me wet, until she met your father." The old hobbit allowed a quiet chuckle to escape his lips. "This was their favorite spot; they practically lived here, and couldn't wait to teach you to swim. But more than that, they wanted you to have the best life and the happiest one at that. They were excited to watch you grow, to discover the secrets of the world, and to be a part of their story."_

 _Tears streamed down Frodo's face in silence as he continued to observe the stillness of the water, and wondered if even now he would ever be a part of anyone's story._

"Frodo?" called a voice. "Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo blinked and slowly returned to the present, where he saw Sam's honey-colored eyes staring intently at him. Frodo shook his head gently, allowing his surroundings to come back into focus. "Sorry, Sam," he said. "I must have been daydreaming."

"You 'ad me worried there," said Sam. "I thought I'd lost you."

Frodo inhaled deeply, using this breath to complete his transition to the present. "Well, I'm back now," he said. "Where to next?"

It had been a year since Bilbo's farewell party and even though Frodo had planned on staying in that day to avoid running into the nosy residents of Hobbiton, Sam had come by that morning with a favor. It wasn't often that Frodo's younger friend came by with requests from his master, but it happened to be coincidental that he would have one on the anniversary of Bilbo's parting as well as Frodo's birthday. At least, that was how Frodo saw it.

Sam explained that he needed to go to Bywater for some errands in preparation for winter, and Sam shyly revealed his own request to go into town with Frodo's company. The older hobbit had blinked, thinking that it was an odd thing to ask of him, given that Sam rarely sought anything from Frodo unless invited to do so. But Frodo mentally swept his own thoughts away almost immediately, knowing what a tremendous thing Sam had done for him the day before. The only thing that made it worth going was that Sam had asked him to, and how he dearly loved his Sam. Had it been anyone else with the same favor, Frodo would have politely declined.

"That's it, Mr. Frodo!" Sam announced triumphantly. "We got ev'rything."

Frodo frowned, furrowing his brows together in confusion. The trek from Bag End to Bywater wasn't extremely long, but it wasn't a casual stroll either. Sam had only two things in his hands: a sack of brown sugar and a tinderbox, both of which could have easily been acquired from the markets of Hobbiton. "Sam, you've only some sugar and a tinderbox. We surely couldn't have come all this way for those two items."

Sam blushed and broke his gaze from Frodo hastily. "Y-You don't understand, sir," he stammered. "You can't get sugar as fine as this anywhere but here, beggin' yer pardon. If ya do, it's naught but dry."

Frodo gave Sam a skeptical look from a blue squinted eye but produced a surreptitious smile. He knew Sam better than all that, and it was clear to him that his younger friend was being awfully secretive, another trait that was uncommon for the humble gardener. But Frodo wasn't convinced when, under the hard stare, Sam looked away again, his ears taking on the color of his crimson cheeks.

"Since when did sugar from Hobbiton become dry?" Frodo questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Sam avoided Frodo's interrogative stare. "Please, Mr. Frodo," he squeaked. "I can't 'splain it, and anyway, we've got to get home b'fore tea time if you follow me."

"But it's not even one o'clock yet, Sam. Why the sudden hurry to get home?"

But the younger hobbit took off into a brisk walk, never returning his gaze to his master to acknowledge that he'd heard him, leaving Frodo looking quite befuddled, which is exactly how the gentle-hobbit felt. Eventually, though, the older hobbit began to follow Sam at a slower pace, trying to make sense of his friend's elusive behavior.

The two ended up walking together in silence, Frodo occasionally glimpsing over at Sam as if to decipher his facial expressions, but the young gardener either wasn't aware of Frodo's scrutinizing glances or if he was, he certainly didn't show it.

After some time, Sam came to an abrupt halt, and cried somewhat forcefully and louder than normal, "Oh!"

Frodo, too, stopped walking. "What is it, Sam?"

"I'm tired, Mr. Frodo. Aren't you?" His volume seemed to increase as each word left his mouth.

Frodo blinked. "No," he replied carefully. "Sam, you're going to draw someone's attention. Why are you shouting, and did you just now become tired?"

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but I ain't yellin'! And I reckon it must be the sun er somethin' what's got me feelin' sleepy." He added this last statement with an exaggerated sigh while dramatically brushing an arm across his dry forehead as if to accentuate absolute depletion. But as soon as he let his arm down, his breathing returned to normal before he peered into Frodo's dumbstruck face as if to search for some kind of reaction.

Frodo's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Samwise thoughtfully. Theatricality wasn't unheard of within the Shire, though it was rather uncommon for hobbits to engage in upon surpassing childhood. But for the Gamgees of Bagshot Row, acting had no business in the household as, like so many other unrespectable things, it offered little practicality and didn't complete the chores. This mentality would have inevitably passed onto young Samwise, so it should have made sense to the gardener's audience that his debut would be a little raw.

But this was not the Sam Frodo knew and whether his friend was acting or not, the gentle-hobbit wondered if there was a bit of mischief in this particular sun after all, and lifted his questioning gaze to the sky. It wasn't all that warm out, and they had walked this road together plenty of times before. But when he returned his eyes to Sam's, the shy hobbit once again looked away apologetically, causing Frodo to entertain even more suspicion.

Not knowing how to react, Frodo responded as if nothing was amiss. "Here, Sam," he said. "How about I carry your things for you? That should help." He reached to take hold of the sack of sugar, but Sam tightened his grip.

"No, Mr. Frodo, I 'ave it! Let me carry it, sir, I got it, please! Mr. Frodo, please, no!"

"Why, Samwise Gamgee!" Frodo laughed incredulously. "What's going on with you today? Are you feeling quite all right?"

"Y-Yes, sir," Sam stuttered, his voice returning to its normal volume. "I just need ta sit fer a bi', if you follow me." He looked to his right and then suddenly pointed a finger to a famous inn that the two frequented often. "Look, Mr. Frodo! It's the Green Dragon. Why don't we jus' si' in there till I start feelin' myself?"

Frodo silently agreed that Sam wasn't like himself. In fact, he wasn't like anybody he knew. But the idea of going into the most popular inn in all the Shire didn't sit right with Frodo, especially with it being his birthday as well as a year since Bilbo had left the Shire. Though it was held in great esteem by most hobbits, the Green Dragon Inn was a fine place to exchange news, spread rumors, and stir up gossip if one didn't count how many mugs of ale they'd drunk. Indeed it was here that Lotho Sackville-Baggins had lost count of his own before trying to start something with Frodo, and the gentle-hobbit hadn't been back since.

So naturally, the thought of stepping into an inn where he would be easily recognized made Frodo forget about his suspicions regarding Sam's recent demeanor.

"Mr. Frodo?" came Sam's voice again.

Frodo gave a disheartened sigh. "Very well, Sam," he said softly. "I suppose if it's not for too long."

Sam offered Frodo the best reassuring smile he could muster, which wasn't much, considering that Frodo wasn't looking, but also because Sam was already aware of the change in his master's mood, and seemed to be uncertain about how to help him. On one hand, he knew that leading his master into this particular inn could muster up a lot of internal pain. But on the other hand, he had made a promise, and if he backed out now, the damage could be unthinkable. Already several times today, he seemed reluctant to lead Frodo astray, but the gardener had to silently remind himself that it was for his master that this solemn promise was made and kept.

With heavy feet, Frodo entered the inn, but as he stepped in the doorway, his eyes and mouth both gaped open immediately with wonder and confusion. The inn itself was empty and though this would be quite a shock on any day in its own right, it was not what caused Frodo's heart to swell with emotion.

Lined between the walls and ceiling of the Green Dragon hung little lanterns from which glittering flames flickered in and out at a steady rhythm. Across the back wall, a banner was stretched with the words "Happy Birthday" written on it. And lastly, in the center of the room at the centermost table, a small sponge cake was displayed and within its own center was lit a single candle.

The low lighting in the room reflected off of Frodo's sapphire eyes, causing them to radiate celestially, giving him a stargazed complexion as if he'd walked right out of the Shire and into one of Bilbo's stories. Samwise observed the older hobbit and considered his appearance to be fair and Elf-like.

It took Frodo a long time to process the entire scene that he beheld and having decided that there was more to Sam's uncanny behavior than even he guessed, the 34-year old started piecing the puzzle together before two more surprises made an unexpected appearance.

" _Happy birthday!_ " rang two voices in unison, producing a pair of familiar faces before the alarmed gentle-hobbit with a sensational display of simple hobbit trickery.

Frodo, now trembling from the spectacle, was lost for words for several moments before he could speak again, and even then, his voice had not fully recovered. "What is the meaning of this?"

The two hobbits giggled and guffawed at their older cousin's reaction, and as Merry and Pippin greeted the astounded Frodo with hugs and kisses, Sam let out his own timid chortle, unaware that it had reached his master's ears.

"Oh, dear Frodo," said Merry, letting an arm drape across his cousin's shoulders. "You didn't think you could age another year and it not be noticed, did you?"

Many thoughts pulsed through Frodo's brain and he opened his mouth to voice an equally witty response, but nothing came out. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he ended up gurgling out a sound that resembled a blend of cackles and splutters.

"Uh-oh," said Pippin, whose small arms were still clutched around Frodo's knees. "I think we broke him, Merry."

Frodo tried to counter again in hopes of regaining his battered dignity, but he was only able to draw in a breath before it went sailing out into a fit of laughter. This, in turn, caused his friends to join in his merriment and laugh with him.

"I think you're right, Pip!" agreed Merry. "He's cracking up all right." Then the hobbit shifted his gaze to Sam. "Good work, Master Gamgee! We accomplished our mission, but in the process, I'm afraid we've lost your master."

Sam's grin instantly descended into a frown. He didn't like the idea of Mr. Frodo being lost however harmless Mr. Merry had meant his comment to be. He didn't mind helping out Frodo's friends with a favor as long as it was for his master's benefit, but he would never in his life lose him, even as a joke.

"No, we 'aven't, 'ave we, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, shaking his master's shoulder with concern.

Frodo inhaled deeply and ran a hand across his eyes. "I'm afraid Merry is right, Sam. But don't worry. During my brief absence, I was able to gain some clarity, and all I have to say is that you are all a conniving and deceitful lot of scoundrels! I considered myself to be among friends, and here I come to find that I've walked straight into a conspiracy."

"What's a con-conspeersy?" asked little Pippin, tugging on the leg of Frodo's trousers.  
The gentle-hobbit gleamed down at the young Took with a mischievous eye before picking the child up in his arms. "It means a group of naughty hobbit lads who like to play tricks on their older innocent cousin!"

"You mean me?" asked the toddler innocently, poking a finger into his chest as his green eyes sparkled.

" _Especially_ you! I daresay you have far too much experience in this area, Pippin, and that makes you an expert." Frodo gave the pink nose a playful pinch before kissing it affectionately.

"Now Frodo, you can't pin this all on us," Merry protested, the beginnings of a smirk forming across his whimsical face. "After all, it's not our fault that you're an easy target."

Sam's mouth dropped open, mortified by what he perceived to be an insult, but Frodo merely locked his eyes with Merry's, his cheeks reaching their fullest potential in color, and a vengeful smile playing upon his lips. Inwardly, his head played out a series of tactics on how he would make his cousin suffer his revenge.

"Oh I am, am I?" asked Frodo in a dangerous tone, glaring strategically at Merry, whose face beamed of bold arrogance.

"Just a bit," replied Merry unwaveringly.

Frodo blinked and averted his gaze. "Well, what I want to know is how long have you been planning this, and how in Middle-earth did you ever get this place to clear out?"

"To answer your second question first, Tom Cotton's cousin owns this pub, and it was simply a matter of asking him to let us use it for a few hours. Of course, with us being away and all that, we put your friend Samwise up to the task of asking Rosie to talk to him. And that didn't take long considering-"

"Sam likes Rosie!" Pippin finished, laughing as he pointed a tiny finger at the embarrassed gardener, who fidgeted uncomfortably under the stare of all three hobbits.

"Mr. Pippin, sir! I mean, Frodo. Don't you believe it, sir! I-I don't either!"

Unfortunately for Sam, Frodo _did_ believe it. He had known, of course, for years that Samwise had a fancy for the daughter of Tom Cotton, often noting the brown eyes that trailed her as she pranced by on the occasions that they'd run into one another. It was obvious that Rosie herself knew of Sam's unspoken attraction, for she would often tease him by twirling about adorably in her skirts before disappearing from his gaze altogether.

But Frodo also knew that the young gardener was very bashful and that his strict upraising contained a very sentimental and tender heart that held very dear and intimate secrets. Frodo was not about to indulge in Sam's thoughts if he wasn't ready to discuss them. Instead, he turned a disapproving eye on his cousins and scolded them gently before setting Pippin back on the floor.

"Now that that's settled," he said, returning to business, "hadn't you better answer my first question? How long have you been keeping this a secret?"

"Why Frodo, if we were to divulge that information then it wouldn't be a secret, now would it? And anyway, we must retain silence should the need arise to conspire against you in the future for more grander things!"

Frodo scoffed. "Fine then, keep your secrets, you rascals! I have no use for them anyway when I can eat all this delicious cake... _by myself!_ "

Frodo resigned to taking defiant steps toward the center table, where the tempting cake waited, the candle burned in full, and while Merry and Sam watched on with unconvinced faces, Pippin's lips parted, and a mournful cry spilled out of him.

He raced after Frodo, catching his hand as the older hobbit seated himself in front of the fine delicacy. "You mustn't do it, Frodo!"

"If you cough up your little schemes then I might have a heart to share, Peregrin!"

"But it was Merry's idea. He promised if I agreed to go along then I could have some cake, too!"

"Well, see?" Frodo cried. "He betrayed you, too. I'm sorry, Pip. It just can't be helped." Not bothering with any utensils (especially since his entertainers had seemingly forgotten to provide them anyway), he dipped a hand in the dessert and scooped up a nice lump of the sweet stuff.

In desperation, Pippin ran to Merry, forcefully pulling on his arm in the direction of their cousin. "Tell him, Merry! You have to! You must! You promised!"

"Oy, not so rough, Pippin!" Merry scolded, tearing his arm from the child's persistent clutches. "After all, I was intent on telling him the secret from the beginning, if only you both wouldn't harp so."

"You'd better hurry, Meriadoc," warned Frodo, bringing the slop of cake to his mouth. "My patience is wearing thin."

" _MERRY!_ " screamed Pippin in a fit of terror.

"All right, all right," relented the unconcerned Brandybuck. "If you insist." Then having crossed the distance to his older cousin, Merry stepped behind Frodo and leaned over. Cupping a hand around the pointy ear of the 34-year-old, he lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "Eat dirt."

Frodo did not miss a beat and reacted immediately. With one swift move, the gentle-hobbit (not really so gentle after all) threw back his arm and smashed his sticky weapon into the rebellious tween's face. Merry froze, Pippin wailed dramatically, and Sam stood by aghast. Frodo himself hooted triumphantly, but his victory was short-lived as the clever Brandybuck snatched up his own handful of the treat and pulverized his older cousin's face with the stuff.

Pippin's screams momentarily turned to cackles of unruly laughter, prompting the master of Bag End to snatch some more of the dessert and pursue the disobedient Took in an undignified manner.

The child screeched and lept about the room like a gazelle, dodging his cousin's advances with great agility, until he finally bumped into a startled Sam and ducked the oncoming onslaught of flying cake. Fortunately for him, his quick thinking saved him at the last moment, although the same could not be said of the shaken gardener.

"Oh!" is all Sam managed to get out before the collision of cake sealed his mouth, eyes, and nose with a _SPLAT!  
_  
The three cousins ceased their antics immediately and froze at this unexpected development. Frodo frantically ran to his shocked friend and began wiping away clumps of frosted cake. "Sam, Sam!" he laughed. "Are you in there, my lad?"

"Aye, Mr. Frodo," came a shy but shaky voice. He blinked as his sticky eyes were resurrected from their burial.

"I am so sorry," his master apologized with sincerity. "Are you all right?"

"Y-Yes, sir. I'm alright 'nough, although I'm righ' sorry 'bout yer cake. But really, there's naught to be worried about."

Frodo chuckled at his friend's humored response, but then quickly turned a disapproving eye to the child who lay sprawled on the floor. "Well, sprout, are you satisfied? Look what you've done to poor Sam!"

"It's not my fault!" the Took cried out and pointed a contemptuous finger up at his older cousin. "It's _your_ fault! All I wanted was cake. I am the real victim."

Frodo raised a surprised eyebrow and scoffed, stunned by his cheeky cousin's nerve in addressing himself as a victim, although Frodo decided that he was about to be. A sudden mischievous glare crept into his eyes and the unsuspecting Took suddenly wondered if this might be a good time to get up from the floor. "Oh, you're going to get cake all right," said Frodo. Then with lightning speed, the hobbit pounced on the hapless Took and shouted, "Do it, Merry!"

The young Brandybuck, having recognized the wicked gaze of Frodo from personal ill-fated experiences, did not hesitate but sprang into action immediately. Revenge would be sweet...literally. While Frodo's vulnerable ears suffered the piercing sounds of Pippin's shrieks and protests under the weight of his cousin, Merry smeared the last handfuls of the sticky treat all over the Took's face, neck, and ears. The sensation of Merry's cold fingers slithering about on Pippin's sensitive flesh caused the tormented child to wriggle about violently in fits of unsuppressed giggles.

Thus, the empty inn was amplified with sounds of screaming, laughter, shouting, hooting, hollering, and eventually, declarations of surrender. Moments later, Frodo and Merry ceased their attacks on Pippin and even helped the child to his feet. Sam, having shielded his ears from the deafening shrieks of horseplay, rejoined the rest of the hobbits, and they all assisted each other in reviving their former and respectable faces.

A little later on, the four hobbits found themselves making a journey back toward Hobbiton in which Frodo decided his two friends should stay with him for a couple days before heading back to their separate homes. This, of course, didn't come as a surprise to the younger lads, although they were relieved, considering that this had been their original unvoiced intention.

By the time they reached Bag End, the hour for afternoon tea had passed, leaving all four hobbits incredibly hungry, especially now that all their energy had been used first for their cake war, and second for their trek home. Frodo had carried Pippin a good part of the way on his back after the young Took had fallen behind from multiple yawns ("You'd best make sure he's not pulling your leg," Merry had warned. "Remember that time when he received first-class transportation to your home by way of those Shirriffs?").

Frodo had indeed remembered.

It was dusk by the time the four hobbits arrived in the cozy smial and having urged Sam to stay for dinner, the lads worked together to create the biggest dish they could pull together in as little time as possible. It was during this time when their hyperactive chatter simmered to more intimate conversations in which memories of the beloved hobbit Bilbo surfaced. They all had loved the old bird dearly, each having had a special relationship with him.

Pippin recalled meeting him for the first time when he and Merry, along with their separate families, came to Bag End to celebrate Yule together. It was during this time when he encountered Frodo as well, and the young Took immediately fell in love with the two hobbits, their home, and their stories.

Merry shared his earliest memories of Bilbo when Frodo lived in Brandy Hall, and the old hobbit would come to visit his relations on special occasions, always bringing a gift for the young Brandybuck. He also remembered how the old rascal had "snatched my Frodo away from me and it took me years to forgive him!"

Sam described his numerous interactions with his former master as pleasant and of good cheer. Bilbo had always treated the Gamgees with kindness, especially Samwise, who'd taken a liking to the hobbit's heir upon his arrival to Hobbiton. It was often when Sam was invited to play with Frodo when he wasn't tending to chores. Occasionally, after they'd finished playing, Bilbo would insist that Sam stayed for either afternoon tea or supper, depending upon the time the two returned from 'adventuring' about Hobbiton. In the quiet hours before Sam had to return home, Bilbo would tell the lads adventurous stories, sometimes his own, and other times made up.

Bilbo had also been a very important figure in the gardener's life for the simple reason that the old hobbit taught Samwise his letters, and this mere gesture had meant a great deal to the lad at the time. He would never forget it and he held these moments of learning as treasurable.

For Frodo, there were so many moments from which to choose that transpired between himself and the old hobbit. But the one that stood out to him the most, especially today of all days, was the one in which Bilbo invited Frodo to live with him in Bag End. He had been remembering the moment when he and Sam set out for Bywater earlier that day, and he would never forget the love he experienced in his heart upon receiving Bilbo's words:

 _"I can't bring your parents back, Frodo, my lad. I wish I could offer you their return, but I do not have that kind of power in me." Bilbo breathed in shakily. "But there is one thing I can offer, and that is a life with me."_

 _For the first time since Bilbo sat down next to Frodo on the dock, the child lifted his head to look at his uncle and was surprised to see tears shining in the old hobbit's eyes. The image weakened Frodo's heart, allowing his own tears to spill more freely down his reddened cheeks. "I can give you a place to call home. It would be my privilege to have you live with me, a privilege to love you as my own. I know it isn't much, my boy. I wish I could do more, as you rightly deserve. I wish I could give you everything you ever wanted."_

 _Frodo interlocked his little fingers with those of the old hobbit. "Uncle Bilbo?" he said between tears. "A life with you would be enough for me."_

 _For a moment, the two hobbits, sitting side by side, looked into each others' eyes, and though neither one said it, they both knew that this was the conversation they each had waited nine years to have. Then without a word more, they joined together in a tight embrace and wept freely. They wept for each other's loneliness, they wept for the nine years in which they both waited to voice their needs, and they also wept for Frodo's loss, of which nine years earlier, had become the river's gain._

 _Moments later, they broke apart, Bilbo keeping hold of Frodo's small shoulders. "You had better come and live with me, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo, "and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together."_

As the night came to a close, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin sat in silence, exchanging knowing glances at one another as they each reflected on their treasured moments with the beloved old hobbit. Then they warmly acknowledged Bilbo by toasting to his health, his stories, and their shared adventures.

Upon Sam's announcement that it was time for him to return home, the three cousins walked with him to the door. Merry stepped out into the nightly air and he gave an astonished gasp, prompting the other hobbits to fix their gaze on what had brought upon this reaction.

Overhead, a blanket of stars twinkled brightly in the September night sky, bringing the evening a touch of enchantment and wonder.

"You know, lads," said Frodo, his eyes looking at his companions faces. "I think I know how we can give this day a proper end."

Merry and Pippin waited with anticipation and Sam looked at his master with curiosity. It was rather late for him to be heading home, but when Mr. Frodo voiced an idea, he knew that something grand would follow.

"Let's go to the field where Bilbo had his party. It would mean a lot to him."

The cousins voiced their enthusiastic agreement in unison, and Sam took a step closer to Frodo, dipping his head shyly. "Can I come too, Mr. Frodo?"

"Why, Sam!" Frodo responded merrily, draping an arm across the gardener's shoulders and pulling him close. "I hoped you would. Indeed, it wouldn't be proper without you."

So the four hobbits proceeded to the place where Frodo had come of age a year ago, and Bilbo had made his farewells amongst a sea of astonished hobbits. As they walked, they could feel the cool earth beneath their feet; the rich soil was slightly damp under the textures of grass and twigs. The smell of Autumn mixed with the memories of Gandalf's fireworks filled their nostrils. Stray pieces of the wizard's firecrackers had been found months after the party, and the four hobbits had come to associate these findings as part of September's aroma.

Having reached the field, Frodo sat down on the cool grass and looked out across the site. He thought he could visualize the party all over again and felt strong emotions surge within him. His friends had also seated themselves next to him, Sam on one side and Merry on the other. Pippin had crawled in the vacant space of Frodo's lap and the Master of Bag End held the little Took close to his chest.

"Well, this is an eye-opener, an' no mistake," whispered Sam.

And he was correct. The stars overhead illuminated the grassy clearing, and the hobbits saw glowing lights dancing lightly just on the ground's surface.

"Look!" cried Pippin. "Are there stars in the grass too?"

"No, you silly duck," said Merry. "Those are fireflies!"

"Oh... They look like stars."

Frodo smiled as he gazed at them reflectively. "You're right, Pip. They do." Then the hobbit thought he could hear faint sputters coming from beside him. He turned and saw tears streaming from the gardener's face. "Why, Samwise Gamgee," he said softly, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "What is it, Sam? Please tell me."

Sam sniffed and brought his hands to his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. I don't rightly know, sir. I just feel so 'appy to be sittin' here... and sad, too, I reckon. I s'pose it don' make no sense to be cryin' and not be sad, does it?"

Frodo smiled. "No, Sam. I think it makes perfect sense." He put an arm around his dear friend and gave his brow an endearing kiss.

Sam breathed out a shaky sigh. "I think, Mr. Frodo... I think this is my calm place if you follow me."

Frodo closed his eyes and breathed in the aromas around him. "Mine too, Sam."

"And mine," chimed in Merry.

Pippin blinked. "I want cake. That would be my calm place."

Frodo grinned at the foolish child and tousled his curls. "Didn't get enough cake earlier there, squirt?"

Merry inhaled deeply. "You know, it's a good thing we're a right bunch of respectable lads, otherwise we might get an itch to go on an adventure." Frodo, Sam, and Pippin looked at the tween with curious eyes, small smiles forming on their faces. "But of course, adventures aren't very respectable, are they? They're nasty."

"Disturbing," agreed Sam.

"Uncomfortable things," added Frodo.

"...Make you late for dinner," Pippin said quietly, his thoughts still lingering on cake.

The lads sat together in silence for a long while before Merry spoke again. "But if we were to go on an adventure, can you imagine what that would look like? We might battle goblins."

Frodo smiled warmly. "Follow Bilbo's footsteps."

"Visit the Elves," breathed Sam.

"Become heroes of the Shire," said Pippin excitedly.

Then as if thinking the same thing, all four hobbits exchanged knowing glances with one another and a grin broke out across each face to confirm their hidden imaginings.

" _Roads go ever ever on,_ " sang Frodo, prompting the other three hobbits to join him in a song written by Bilbo himself sixty-one years earlier.

 _Over rock and under tree,  
By caves where never sun has shone,  
By streams that never find the sea;  
Over snow by winter sown,  
And through the merry flowers of June,  
Over grass and over stone,  
And under mountains of the moon._

As they sang, so too did the fireflies, still dancing upon the surface of the field, as did the stars that shined brightly overhead. Stray Autumn leaves sang gently under the hush of a gentle breath of wind. Even the memories they shared of Bilbo Baggins sang in their minds, mixed with the thoughts of a prospective adventure that lay in the future just for them.

Frodo wrapped an arm around the two hobbits who sat beside him and Pippin nuzzled in closer to feel the rise and fall of his beloved cousin's chest, and in that special moment, the magic of hobbits was made complete. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin watched as a glimmering star radiated brilliantly across the night sky, and each hobbit wished for nothing more than the bond that they already had within each other.

Frodo sent an unvoiced prayer of gratitude to the stars, thanking them for his loving uncle, his two spirited cousins, and his cherished friend. They were, after all, his dear and most beloved hobbits.

THE END


End file.
